


Farewell

by MeeMaw



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: BEWARE:Ratings have changed, Canonical Character Death, Dreams and Nightmares, F/M, Just slightly different really but makes sense to me, a different take on GoT S7 events, he'd been staring at her good heart for a long time now, viserion - Freeform, we know that's not what he really wanted to say
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-19 07:56:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17597333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeeMaw/pseuds/MeeMaw
Summary: Chapter 1. What if before leaving for Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, Jon’s parting words to Dany weren’t “I wish you good fortune in the wars to come, Your Grace.”?Dany bids farewell to Jon by Dragonstone's warm, sandy beach.Chapter 2. The road to Dragonstone had been paved with losses and anguish, leaving her alone and empty. She was driven by an unrelenting desire to leave the world a better place than she had found it in but there wasn’t any real joy for 'her' in that. No conquest came without losses; reclaiming Westeros would not be any different. She did not care for her own life and her mangled heart had been a ruin for far too long now, full of memories - both beautiful and blight but not a dwelling for any new hopes and new lives.Dany bids another farewell to Jon by the edge of a frozen lake.(Dany goes to save Jon beyond the Wall. A slightly different take on S7 - Eastwatch.)





	1. Farewell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [drakhus67820](https://archiveofourown.org/users/drakhus67820/gifts).



> Jon had traveled to Dragonstone with Ser Davos. There had been talks/suggestions of a political marriage between Dany and the KITN. 
> 
> This is before he leaves on a wight-hunt.
> 
> Inspired by Drakhus' Tumblr prompt, "Hot damn kiss".
> 
> Honestly, I didn't understand what that means. But hey, I gave it a try! I hope you enjoy reading it, Drakhus :)

Since the day he had arrived, returning home had been his only wish and now the day was near when he would finally leave for the North after what seemed like an eternity. Having forged a military alliance with the Dragon Queen, the only thing left for him was to bring the proof of the undead's existence so that a truce could be secured with Cersei Lannister and if they were fortunate, mayhaps even convince her to fight for the living.

The fires in the opulent accommodation he had been allocated were burning bright and yet, Jon Snow, the King in the North, felt cold to his bones. Restlessly, he tossed and turned as he laid abed, restraining a strong urge, a nagging desire, to walk out of his chambers at the moment and find her chambers.

_And then what? Tell her that he ‘wants to’ marry her? What of the long speech he had given that once the northern lords see her, really see her for who she truly is, they could easily be persuaded to accept her dominion even without the need of a marriage alliance, that she did not have to marry him for politics?_ He cursed himself for it. He cursed his cowardice. He cursed himself over and over when he remembered the disappointment and the heartache in Daenerys’s face when he had uttered those words. More than anything, he cursed his bastardy, the unworthiness of his name, _Snow_.

_He was walking down this long empty hall. His voice echoed all around, but no one answered, so he walked faster, opening doors, shouting names. “Robb.. Arya.. father.. Uncle Benjen..” He didn’t even know who he was looking for. The castle was empty. And then he found himself in front of the door to the crypts. It was black inside, and somehow he knew he had to go down there, through the tombs of the old Kings of Winter. He screamed he wasn’t a Stark, that that wasn’t his place, but it was no good, he had to go anyway._

Subconsciously, Jon knew all too well by now how this dream would end - with him screaming and running away from the darkness, into more darkness and emptiness. And then something strange happened, _as he threw open the door and climbed out of the crypts, he stood before a shining castle of white marble with a giant red door and the sounds of laughter of children that came from beyond the pale white walls, greeted him, echoing in his ears._ He heard someone call out to him from beyond the boundary wall. _Jon.._ On hearing a familiar, delicate voice of a woman he smiled, stretched his hand, and was about to fling the door open when a strenuous shake roused him from the sleep. “Jon. _Jon_. Wake up lad, we have to leave.”

Jon’s hand was at Ser Davos’s throat and the old man had thrown his hands in the air as he snapped his raging eyes open. “Forgive me, Ser Davos.” He said, immediately withdrawing his hand and placing it over his face, vigorously rubbing his eyes and skin.

“The same old nightmare, Your Grace?” Davos asked shakily, still reeling under the effect of Jon’s rugged grip around his neck.

Jon silently shook his head. _Not a nightmare, a dream._ Jon thought, throwing his bed furs away to prepare himself for what was to come.

 

 *

 

Jon patiently watched from afar when Ser Jorah said his farewells to Daenerys. Hoping that he would find a moment of solitude with her before leaving.

He was strung out and his heart was beating outside of his chest as he walked towards Daenerys. With every step he took towards her, he was braving a lifetime of pain and rejection and giving himself a chance, a chance at hope and possibility. The possibility of finally having what he wanted - a family of his own, that white house with the red door, the carefree chirpings and the laughter of his children, the soft, silvery voice of their mother, _of Daenerys,_ inside that house, his _home_.

When he finally stood before her, he ran his fingers through his hair and then nodded to himself. He had to do this. “Daenerys,” he said, taking her hands in his “if I return, will you marry me?”

Dany stood motionless and did not respond; she seemed … distracted. But Jon knew that feeling all too well, the pang of disbelief and fear of misfortune as if it were all a dream and she would wake up from it feeling cold and lonely all over again.

“I can’t have children” she sorrowfully reminded him.

“You will. We will. I know it.” His voice was full of hope and assurance. _It was the truth_ and Jon Snow was done with lies and deceits. He’d never lie again, not for anything.

She wanted to be pragmatic, to say _no_ , to remind him that he deserved the joys of fatherhood, raise children of his own flesh and blood. _Mayhaps that was one of the reasons why he had refused a marital alliance in the first place._ A union between them had become evitable and yet, every time she had given herself to dreams and hopes, she had often thought how great a father he would be only if they were given an opportunity, a chance at family.

Jon finally gripped her elbows and Dany’s hand found its way to the front of his gambeson, gripping the fabric in a tight fist. They were so close to each other, blissfully naïve, their anxieties washed away, their glassy eyes glimmered like the waters of the vast ocean behind them.

Jon suddenly blinked his eyes and clenched his jaw, nervously aware of the eyes on them.

Dany could see the tension spiral back into his hold and she moved closer to him, unabashed and proud. Raising her chin to him she whispered close to his lips, “I don’t care what anyone would think”

They could see the flame of passion in each other’s eyes and it didn’t scare them. Love wasn’t a weakness and what they felt for each other was real and that was all that mattered. Time stood still when Jon lowered his lips on Daenerys’. He savored the moment, closed his lips around her lower lip, nibbled on it, and then slid his tongue over it, making her part her lips in eager, anxious need. They were breathing through a single pair of lungs between the two of them, drawing breath from each other, gasping for air but not letting go. She ardently pulled his lip between her sharp teeth and bit it hard, and Jon returned the favor. Any harder and they’d be drawing blood. For now, only the violet bruises would have to do. Dany’s hand was drawn to his face, her fingers touching his skin and his coarse beard, and desperately trying to memorize the silhouette of his jawline and the shudder of his skin under her touch. Jon had possessively pulled her to him, pressing her body against his with one arm on the small of her back, the other at the nape of her neck. Passion flowed between them as they were wrapped in an unflinching dance of desire and warmth. They were twined like vines, bones digging into leathers and furs, eager to burst out of their skin in an inexplicable need for touch, dissolving, melting and yearning to become _one_.

A muffled cough from somewhere interrupted their moment of rapture and brought them to reality. “I..Daenerys..” Jon murmured apologetically, regretting letting go of decorum.

“Don’t … don’t say a thing. I shall pray for your safe return, Jon.” She smiled coyly.

“I’ll be waiting to come back to you.” He smiled, touching his forehead to hers, greedy for that one last touch before they would separate for Gods know how long.

 

 *

 

From the corner of her eye, Dany noticed an amused but testy looking Ser Davos handing a silver coin to an equally amused and grinning Tyrion.

“Pay up, Ser Davos. I won! Your King fell for my Queen’s _gentle heart_ first.” Tyrion chuckled and stretched his hand in Davos’ direction.

“Damn you, lad!” Ser Davos muttered under his breath, shaking his head, joy oozing from his heart.

 

 *

 

Jon solemnly stood at the hull of the ship as it rowed away from the shore into the turbulent seas until she was no more than a spec of the winter mist. And only then he let his tears roll down his cheeks. _Gods_.. he whispered, looking at the skies.

She waved at him until the ship vanished from her sight and then went to the dragons' lair to stand watch for any word of him. She had lost way too much in her life to lose him too. _Remember your promise, Jon._ She whispered to the skies. _This isn't a farewell..you have to come back to me_..

 

*

 


	2. Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She woke up with a stifled cry and something else that she hadn’t known since her ferocious sons had grown large enough to protect her at a mere murmur of their names. It was fear, a foreign feeling for she thought she had nothing to lose anymore. The road to Dragonstone had been paved with losses and anguish, leaving her alone and empty. She was driven by an unrelenting desire of leaving the world a better place than she had found it in but there wasn’t any real joy for her in it. No conquest came without losses, reclaiming Westeros would not be any different. At worst, she might lose her life but she was beyond caring for it. Her mangled heart had been a ruin for far too long now, full of memories - both beautiful and blight but not a dwelling for any new hopes and new lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who wanted to see a part 2 to Farewell. :)

She had been having dark dreams since the day Jon left for Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. Her nightmares kept her awake and a perpetual ache settled in her chest. The home that was once lost to her, her house with red door, she had been dreaming of it every night over and over again. The dream always ended with a rattle at the door and Jon’s voice calling out to her but every time she answered, she was greeted with dark grey skies and white shadows that hid him from her eyes. The sweet demand with which he had called out her name was lost to a howling winter wind and subrogated by a faint whisper of a drowning man. There was naught left of him, only burning snow at the sash of the red door where he once stood.

She woke up with a stifled cry and something else that she hadn’t known since her ferocious sons had grown large enough to protect her at a mere murmur of their names. It was _fear_ , a foreign feeling for she thought she had nothing to lose anymore. The road to Dragonstone had been paved with losses and anguish, leaving her alone and empty. She was driven by an unrelenting desire of leaving the world a better place than she had found it in but there wasn’t any real joy for _her_ in it. No conquest came without losses, reclaiming Westeros would not be any different. At worst, she might lose her life but she was beyond caring for it. Her mangled heart had been a ruin for far too long now, full of memories - both beautiful and blight but not a dwelling for any new hopes and new lives.

Daenerys Targaryen and her dragons were already at the Wall by the time Gendry ran back to inform the watchers of the ambush. Try as she might, the two rider-less dragons, her stubborn, insistent children followed her and Drogon.

There was nary a living soul for miles and miles, and she wondered if she was lost in the frozen tundra. “I cannot lose him.” She reminded herself, wiping the frost and tears away from her eyes. The dragons began their slow descent as white land beneath the dragons gave way to shadows with icy blue eyes. Blue of _death_.

The mere sight of him filled her with glee and relief. While Rhaegal and Viserion spewed fire on the wraiths forming a circle of fire and safety around the living, Drogon perched on a clearing close to him.

Jon ducked from the inferno created by the large dragon that shielded him under its wings. He sighed and relief shone in his eyes while his fellow rangers scurried behind him.

_“Take my hand, Jon.” She yelled frantically. She screamed his name many times over, but he was too far and then in one fateful stroke, her world began to crumble. A shrill shriek and a rain of blood engulfed the sky as every living soul watched in crippling horror and disbelief. His sad eyes met hers and the next moment, his panic-struck voice implored her to leave. “Daenerys, leave! Now!”_

_Before long, Jon was gone and so was her son, her gentle gold and white son, Viserion. They both were lost to her in the burning ice and she saved the few she could._

The ride back to the wretched castle seemed much longer than it had taken her to find Jon. There was stillness and silence in the manner with which everyone sat on an irate Drogon. Her son was seething and burning; unlike her - she had lost her fire in ice.

The handful of black brothers, wildlings and the men of North who were at the Eastwatch castle did not need telling what happened to their beloved brother, friend, and King. It was written plain on everyone’s faces.

“Your Grace…” Ser Davos bowed, his sorrowful eyes seeking questions she did not have answers to. She wordlessly walked past him to the room they had offered when she had arrived there.

Clutching her chest, she slumped on the floor and burying her head between her folded legs, she let out a wail that the world was deaf to, but it reverberated through her existence.

_If I look back, I am lost._

_'No,’ she thought, ‘I’m lost without him.’_

An hour later she emerged from the sparse room and sent for Ser Jorah.

“You cannot go back there, Your Grace. You’re too important, you’ve seen what awaits us beyond the Wall."

 _I cannot leave him, Ser._ She wanted to say. “What of the North, of his siblings? What do we tell his sister who has not seen him in years? That we lost him? That I went there with three dragons and I could not save him?”

“Your Grace--” Ser Jorah quietened and contemplated choosing his next words carefully. He had known Daenerys since she was a timid young girl who trembled at her brother’s threats and had later watched her walk out of the fire, unscathed and beautifully terrifying. He did not have the heart to tell her that the man she loved was truly gone or that if Gods were cruel, he would come back as one of _them_ and she would have to fight him too. “You did not just lose him, you lost a son too in trying to save him. From what little I've learned of him, he would want you to live and see his people through this winter. If you want to honor his memory, wage a war in his name, a war likes of which this world has not seen or heard of. But going beyond the Wall after everything that has happened is a foolhardy expedition, Your Grace.”

In the end, she relented. “We’ll wait here then. Two more days, Ser Jorah” She commanded, leaving no room for intercession. Drogon had left the accursed place and flown away to grieve his fallen brother but Rhaegal keened loudly and circled the skies beyond the Wall, mourning his brother by blood perhaps even hoping that he might come back.

By nightfall, a lone rider on the back of a horse emerged from the haunted forest.

She did not flinch when Ser Davos tore away the garments that had frozen on Jon’s skin. Tremors ran through her veins when she saw his wounds. She did not care what they thought of her and she wasn’t going to leave him alone till he recovered completely. There was no proper maester at the castle but the wildlings’ knowledge of winters and ways of it would have to suffice. “Ser Davos, can you tell me if this is too hot?” She politely asked before feeding Jon any fluids through spoon or placing the warm bricks around him. That night, she joined the black brothers in kindling the logs in the hearth, mindlessly moving burning logs and red coals with her bare hands until she realized everyone was watching her with anxious awe. “Off you go” she heard Davos yell, his own eyes wide as saucers. At first he hadn’t understood but then he quickly realized that the Unburnt had earned _that_ title as well.

Two days later when they set sail, Jon was in her cabin on the Targaryen ship, Balerion and even though he was still braving his nightmares and slept fitfully, some color had begun returning to his pale skin and the old man could not help himself from gently patting the dragon queen over her head as though she was the daughter he and Marya could never have. _The seven bless you, child._ He prayed.

The cabin was stifling hot and she was burning from the heat but dared not put out the fires. Jon had not truly woken up since return. He sometimes mumbled some incoherent words, or his body stiffened and twisted as if he was trying to get away from the monsters from his nightmares, but that was all. He hadn’t opened his grey eyes yet. She got out of her wintery attire and slipped into a pale lilac linen shift and sat close to him, writing letters to her bannermen and instructions for Tyrion. She wanted Tyrion to have time to acclimatize to the new reality. She and Jon would not travel to parley with Cersei. She intended to send the wight to the Lannister woman to do as she wished and let her clever Hand treat with his sister on her behalf. Jon’s war was more important than her own and her own bannermen needed to see that more than a mad queen who could not see more further than her nose.

She was weary to her bones from not having slept for more than a few hours since days. She stretched her legs and moved closer to Jon. She hesitated at first, wondering what he would make of it, _of her_ , when he woke up but she was beyond caring for propriety and like every other day since they had been together, she turned to her side and at first, she combed his hair with her fingers, she then planted soft kisses to his cheeks and at last, from above the furs, she felt the dreadful scars on his torso and sobbed as she had done countless times now.

When Jon finally woke up from his seemingly never-ending nightmares, his mind was disoriented and he did not know what side of the war he would be fighting. He felt giddy with relief when he saw Daenerys nestled close to him, and he soaked himself in her angelic beauty. She was beautiful beyond words, her pale skin glittered as if Gods themselves had sprinkled silver-dust all over her, her plush, pink lips were slightly parted as she breathed through them, her silver hair were strewn over his shoulder and the soft cushion of her own arm that was bent at the elbow. Jon’s skin flared with love and passion when he realized she must have drifted into sleep while watching over him. And then his gaze traveled, to her pale neck that was strained because she had stretched it to bury her face in the crook of his arm, her loose garment had become unlaced and undone and her supple skin peeked from it, glistening under the sheen of firelight. Her allure was one for the bards, he thought. She was too beautiful and too pure for the world of mortals. As she shuffled and sank further against him, her oddly short-length garment hiked up her thighs making Jon uncomfortably aware that he wasn’t clothed and before he could move his tardy limbs, or say something to her, he heard a knock on the door.

Not knowing who or what awaited him on the other side of the door, Jon panicked and with much effort, turned his body to his left side. Using all of his strength, he pulled Daenerys into his own furs, covering her legs, and bare arms and shoulders the best he could. When Ser Jorah entered and saw them in that state, he immediately asked the servant to halt and leave the fresh logs outside. He told Jon that he was happy to see him recover but bore a conflicted look and quickly murmured an apology for intruding. Jon wanted to stop him but his voice was grating and hoarse from lack of use and he could not utter any words before the knight closed the door behind him, leaving them alone.

Under normal circumstances, Jon would have fixated over his state of undress and thus, Dany’s honor in the eyes of other men. However, mere days ago he had almost died and had become lost to her forever. He was also the reason why Dany’s son was not alive and that self-blame was more overbearing than what someone would say about him and his betrothed sharing a bed. Jon’s fingers were in her hair and lips upon her forehead when she shuffled and rubbed her nose in his chest. He wished for more strength so that he could scoop her in his arms and partake in her warmth.

‘Jon. _Jon’_ he heard her before he saw her. He lazily opened his eyes and found that she was shifting underneath the furs. Mayhaps when he fell back into another long slumber, unbeknownst to him, he'd tugged Dany to his form and wrapped his arm tightly around her narrow waist. His face was resting in her hair and his leg inserted in between hers. “Jon, you came back to me.” She croaked, sounding as if a breeze had disturbed the languor of crisp winter leaves. She had cried ceaselessly every waking moment of the past few days. She cried for him when she realized she may have lost him to the icy grave, she cried for her loving son who did not make it out of the frozen lake and when he had come back to Eastwatch, she wept and beseeched the Gods to save Jon’s life. _‘You cannot take him too’,_ she had begged the Gods she never believed in before that day. The old Gods, Gods of the North, Gods that Jon kept.

Something stirred inside her when Jon moved his leg, his knee brushing the inside of her thighs. Reddened with embarrassment, she tried to pull away from him but he kept her close, not loosening his grip, “Stay” he whispered. His eyes were full of honest love and also, a guileless apology. “Don’t blame yourself for him. It’s that monster’s doing, not yours.” The pain in his molten grey eyes deepened at her kind words and the loving touch of her fingers over his cheeks.

“I should have been cautious. I should have known better than to send for you. It should have been me and not your son.” Jon rasped, full of despair.

Tears fell unbidden as Daenerys thought of the son she lost and the sons and daughters he had so convincingly said they will have together fearing that in truth, while she had lost Viserion, the latter might not come to pass. “I had come for you even before you sent for me. If I have to do it all over again, I’d do it for you in a heartbeat. It should _never_ have been you, you should never have gone to the most dangerous place in the world for Cersei Lannister of all people.” Anger soared in her chest as she saw the folly in Tyrion’s plan.

“What about your kingdom? What if Cersei marches to reclaim what you have taken from her?” Jon asked.

“She could do that even after she has pledged support. She’s Tywin’s daughter, guile and deceit are in her blood. If my lord Hand cannot negotiate with her, we shall take back the six kingdoms when this war is done.” Daenerys snarked. Jon himself had not forgotten the Red Wedding. Smiling softly and caressing her moonglow hair, Jon moved his hand to her face, stroking her supple skin he tipped her face to his and when their eyes met, he asked her, “For now, would you be my Queen in the North?”

His answer was a searing kiss on his lips and in his desperation, Jon plundered her mouth with his own, recommencing from right where they had left off at Dragonstone. They moaned and panted, their dance interrupted by a sudden pained groan as Jon winced and chuckled helplessly. “I’m sorry..” he sighed, a primal instinct spiralling through his flesh and he pulled away from her, braving the sudden heat of covetousness setting in his muscles. Her brows contorted in a frown, not realizing his quandary and then, observing his fluid eyes and the bob of his neck, she shimmied close to him pushing a bare leg between his. Her hands found their perching on his shoulders and his legs gave access to hers as she bent it and moved her knee up his thighs till she found that sore spot that was ready to burst out of its confines. “Daenerys” he groaned, not out of pain. She kept her eyes to him and moved her hand inside the furs and Jon caught her wrist before she could reach there. “I won’t last long” he murmured “but I need _you_ ”

“What if, perchance, I rent your wounds?” she worried.

“You won’t, you can never hurt me,” he said, moving her face in between his palms and his lips nibbling hers.

When he tried to move to wedge himself between her legs, she gently nudged him to his back “when you’re better” she whispered in his ear and curved her legs on his either side, straddling him. “Let me see you the least” Jon entreated feeling half bootless and half ashamed at himself.

“You think it wrong that you should want me?” She said, bringing her face close to his.

“No, not that – I wish I could _\--_ you deserve better than _this_.” his head cocked towards his battered and scarred frame.

Dany smiled at him, a small smile filled with a world of comfort and sunshine, kissing his lips softly at first and then harder, her tongue delving deeper, almost frantic with need, eliciting growls from his chest. She peeled away her shift and cast it aside, his hips thrust upwards to meet her core, his length brushing between her folds. “Daenerys--” she heard him say and her hand traveled down the taut muscles of his abdomen, down the dark line of hair, onto the desire that he could no longer reign. She gazed between them in awe and his eyes followed hers, towards her core and where he anticipated he’d join with her. He held his breath when she took the gentle curve of his length in her hands, stroked it back and forth, and moved her pelvis such that she could rub him between her folds. He seemed to have forgotten to breathe and his hands were insistent when they reached behind her chest and the nape of her neck. He nearly yanked her to him, tracing the line of her lips with his tongue, kissed her again, and reached between their bodies to take his length in his own hand. She closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against his, easing her legs, bearing down as he pushed his thickness up, inside her. “Look at me, Daenerys” his voice dropped to low gravel. She opened her lilac eyes and they met his stormy grey ones. They stayed that way as they moved together, slowly and surely.

When his eyes flickered towards the valley of her chest and he darted his tongue to swipe it above his lips, she knotted his hair in fists and rubbing against him, stretched herself ‘til her chest was near his hungry mouth. She suckled him till the tip was sore and then urged him to the other side. She ground hard on him, her nub massaging itself against his mound. She moved slowly at first and then faster and harder as he urged her on and involuntarily thrust her from below. Letting out a stifled cry when her walls clenched, she pressed herself against him and his seed rushed towards her womb. They lay there quiet, with their hearts beating in rhythm; a moment so pure and perfect, it paled every other moment that had come before it.

Hours later, she woke him again “Jon. _Jon_. Wake up, we are almost there.”

“Are we home?” he asked looking around.

 _Home?_ _Does he speak of Dragonstone?_ She wondered, astonished. “We’ve reached White Harbour. From there you should go to Winterfell, to see your family. I must return to Dragonstone and set things in motion for the war.” She answered.

“No,” he mumbled, almost distraught, “I’m never leaving you alone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have come this far, thank you for reading!
> 
> Please review.

**Author's Note:**

> Please share your thoughts :)


End file.
